Six Thousand Miles
by hollyberry29
Summary: Sylar grinned. "I'm being rather generous, you know, asking you first. I could always just drive to the airport... turn into Daddy Bennet, buy two tickets for the next flight to Florence. One for me, and one for my pretty little girl..." Claire/Sylar
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own NBC's "Heroes" or the characters in this story.**

Warning: Rated M for sexual situations and Claire and Sylar's potty mouths :)

_A/N: I am relatively new to Heroes, so go easy on me if I screw up somewhere on the timeline or something :P Lol._

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Prologue -

A slight dip in the mattress was enough to jerk Claire out of her fitful sleep. If this had happened two years ago, she would have assumed it was Mr. Muggles and kicked the pomeranian off the bed. But the years had made her more untrusting, more cautious.

Without moving her head she peered down at the foot of the bed, squinting through the darkness. A hand suddenly reached out and grasped her ankle. The grip was loose enough that she could snatch her foot back.

"How did you know I was awake?" she hissed.

Sylar gave a weary sigh. "I could hear your heart pounding a mile away," he deadpanned. Claire rolled her eyes and rolled over to turn on the lamp.

He was seated with his back to her. A black baseball cap was pulled low over his face, elbows resting on his knees. He looked almost... broken.

"What the hell do you want, Sylar? Obviously not to kill me; you would have done it by now." Sylar turned and took her tiny foot in his hand again, rubbing his thumb along the sole. If it hadn't felt so good, she would have kicked him in the face. Something was wrong with him tonight.

He bent his head and pressed a kiss to the instep of her foot gently, before placing it back on the bed. Claire felt her heart skip a beat, a slow burn coiling in her belly. Without another word, he stood and vaulted himself through the open window. Claire jumped up, watching him race across the damp lawn and into the night.

"What the fuck?" she whispered.

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	2. Parent or Guardian Pick Up Only

**Disclaimer: I do not own NBC's "Heroes" or the characters in this story.**

Warning: Rated M for sexual situations and Claire and Sylar's potty mouths :)

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Chapter 1 - Parent or Guardian Pick-Up Only

"Mrs. Calisco?"

Claire jumped at the blaring, crackling loudspeaker. Several of her classmates groaned and covered their ears. Ah, public school...

Mrs. Calisco glared up at the speaker over the whiteboard.

"Yes?"

"Do you have Claire Bennet?"

"Yes."

"Could you send her down to checkout? Her uncle is here to pick her up."

Peter?

Claire shoved her textbook in her bag and waved goodbye to two of the girls on her cheerleading squad. They blew kisses and giggled as she made her way to the door.

"Claire? Tonight's homework is on page 475, exercise 7B."

Claire nodded at her teacher and closed the door behind her.

Sure enough when she got to the office, there was Peter waiting for her. He was watching her carefully as she approached.

There was something... too boneless and relaxed about the way he was standing, leaning against the counter casually with a little smirk. Not like the usual Perfectly Proper Peter.

She held his gaze as she walked up to the counter. She signed her release form without a word, and followed him out to the parking lot. He walked up to a strange black sedan, not Peter's usual ride.

She paused for a moment, but then opened the door and got in. Claire shut the door and looked up at him. Sylar's face was staring back at her.

"What do you want now, Sylar?" she sighed, turning the air conditioner up as he cranked the car.

"Thought you might want to play a little hooky. Grab lunch," he said with a smirk. Claire rolled her eyes.

"You know, I think you were actually less creepy last night with your little impromptu angst-fest visit. Why the hell would I want to 'do lunch' with you?"

"Now, now, Claire-bear, I didn't pick you up from school to fight."

Claire glared at him from the passenger seat.

Sylar sighed and pulled out of the parking lot, heading for the nearest fast food joint. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you."

"Thank god; for a second there, I thought this little trip didn't have a purpose."

He growled and turned the radio up. The rest of the ride was silent except for the Smashing Pumpkins crooning in the background. He pulled into a drive-in, cruising up to the speaker on the end where it was more private. "What do you want?" he asked, arching up out of the seat to pull out his wallet. Claire snorted. "Sonic. So classy. God, you really do know how to treat a girl."

"What the fuck do you want to eat, Claire?"

"Number 3."

"Thank you."

"I'll order," she said, unbuckling and crawling over him to push the button.

Sylar rolled his eyes, but smirked at her current position. She really did have the perkiest ass...

_"Thank you for choosing Sonic, how can I help you?"_

"I'd like a number 3, with fries and a cherry limeade, and... what do you want?" She asked him.

"Don't care," he muttered, still mesmerized with the graceful dip in her spine.

"Make that two," she chirped. Unable to take it any longer, he gently swatted her denim-clad bottom. She gasped sharply and glared at him, scandalized.

_"Would you like any desert or a side with that?"_

Sylar smirked and rubbed first one cheek and then the other. Claire whimpered deliciously.

_"Ma'am?"_

"Say, 'no, thank you,' Claire-Bear," Sylar rumbled, kneading her thighs gently. Claire struggled for breath.

"N-no, th-thank you," she stuttered, angrily elbowing him in the face and falling back into her seat.

"Asshole!" she hissed.

Sylar laughed, rolling the window back up. "Oh, cut the crap, Claire; you know you were asking for that. Such a little tease."

She said nothing, fuming and pouting as she stared out the window. Her cheeks were stained bright red.

Sylar chuckled and reached out, capturing her chin in his hand. He turned her head to face him. Her green eyes were cold with fury.

He smirked and leaned across the center console, capturing her pretty lips in a kiss. She squealed and tried to pull away frantically. He moved his hand behind her neck, holding her steady against him.

She finally softened, her lips pliant and lush against his own. He licked her bottom lip, seeking entry to her sweet mouth. She parted her lips hesitantly.

He dove in, slicking his tongue against her own. She whimpered and clutched at his shirt as he dominated the kiss. Her muscles felt like melted butter.

He backed away just enough that their lips were still touching and whispered, "Come to Florence with me," he whispered.

Claire jerked back as someone knocked loudly on the window. It was their food. Sylar paid the carhop, sans tip for ruining the moment.

She glared at him and gave him his receipt. "Thanks," she muttered sarcastically.

Claire dug a French fry from her bag, chewing it slowly. Sylar unwrapped his burger.

"Well?" he asked. Claire looked up at him.

"Florence, Italy?"

Sylar rolled his eyes. "No; Florence, Nebraska. Yes, Claire, Italy."

She stared at him, wide-eyed. "Why the fuck would I go with you anywhere, let alone out of the country!" she cried.

"You're with me right now... all you had to say at the school was 'that's not my uncle,' and they would have hauled me away in cuffs," he said, sipping his cherry limade. He cringed and swallowed. "This tastes like ass; you actually drink this?"

Claire huffed and bit viciously into her burger. "No. No, Sylar I will not go to Florence with you. Is this what you wanted to talk to me about? You really are out of your fucking mind," she muttered around a mouthful of food.

Sylar grinned, popping another fry in his mouth. "I'm being rather generous, you know, asking you first. I could always just drive to the airport... turn into Daddy Bennet, buy two tickets for the next flight to Florence. One for me, one for my pretty little girl," he drawled, taking another swig of her drink. Claire laughed.

"As if I would be a willing participant in your little scheme."

Sylar grinned. "Oh, Claire, honey; you should know me better than that by now," he said, lifting his hand and making a quick motion with two fingers. Claire suddenly found that she was unable to open her mouth, or even make a sound, for that matter. She touched her lips gingerly.

He released his hold on her, looking very smug. She looked at him carefully.

"You're actually serious," she whispered.

He leaned in and nestled his nose behind her ear, breathing in the smell of her Pantene shampoo. "With you, baby, always. Now, let me ask you again... Come to Florence with me?"

Claire closed her eyes and nodded slowly in defeat.

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	3. Flying First Class is Worth Every Penny

**Disclaimer: I do not own NBC's "Heroes" or the characters in this story.**

Warning: Rated M for sexual situations and Claire and Sylar's potty mouths :)

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_Chapter 2 - Flying First Class is Worth Every Penny_

"I need clothes."

"Taken care of."

"Passport?"

"It's in your carry-on."

"My purse?"

"You didn't take it to school?"

"Nope. Just took my phone and my driver's license."

"Well, there you go. You're all set."

"What about my wallet?"

"What about it?"

"Money, credit cards..."

"Taken care of."

"Toothbrush?"

"... I'll buy you one."

Claire huffed and crossed her legs, leaning back further on the bench. They were in terminal A-12 at LAX. Sylar sipped at his cappuccino, pulling the bill of his black cap lower over his eyes.

Claire sighed for what must have been the five-hundreth time that day. Sylar clenched his teeth in irritation and downed the dregs, tossing the empty paper cup in the trashcan beside him.

He turned to Claire, leaning back and wrapping his arm around her shoulder. He kissed the shell of her ear tenderly. She jerked away from him, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

"Do you mind?" she snapped. He snorted and rubbed her knee.

"Not a bit, baby."

Claire glared at him coldly. "Don't fucking call me that!" she hissed. Sylar smirked and glanced up at the screen above the gates. New York, 3:15 was now boarding.

"We're up, precious," he said, picking up their bags and taking her elbow, pulling her up. She yanked her arm out of his grip and stalked to the gates, practically throwing her passport and ticket at the stewardess. The woman checked her papers and handed them back to her, smiling.

"Thank you, and enjoy your flight!" she said.

Claire grumbled and pushed through the turn-style. Sylar came through right after her. He reached out and took her hand as they walked to the loading ramp. She attempted to pull away, but he tightened his grip and pulled her to his side.

"Don't cause a scene, Claire-Bear..." he warned quietly, nearly crushing her hand in his own. She winced and nodded. He loosened his hold, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles almost apologetically.

Claire felt her heart quicken when he laced their fingers together, his warm palm pressed against her clammy one. When they reached the steps, he released her hand allowing her to walk in front of them.

They were directed to first class, which, Claire had to (begrudgingly) admit, was quite nice. The carpet and seating were done in cream and gold. The seats were made of soft, ivory leather and had LCD screen panels in the back of each headrest. There were even fold out leg rests. Too bad they weren't flying to Italy in this.

As they were seated, the stewardess offered them a wine list. "Do you want anything?" he asked. She looked up at him. "I'm not-"

Sylar cut her off. "She'll have the champagne and I'll have a Pinot Noir, please." The stewardess nodded and placed their order.

"I'm not 21 yet!" Claire hissed. Sylar leaned over close to her ear. "Look at your passport," he whispered. She gave him a funny look, but dug in her bag for her papers. Charlotte Walden, age 21. Huh. "Charlotte Walden?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Sylar smirked. "I'm a big fan of Thoreau. And you've always looked like a Charlotte to me... No idea why..." he said pensively. Claire rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Let me see yours." Sylar fish his passport from his coat pocket and handed it to her. Stephen Walden, age 32. She slowly raised her head and met his gaze.

"Please, God, tell me you didn't make us a married couple," she deadpanned. He gave her an evil, toothy, cheshire grin. She felt her blood pressure go sky high.

"You son of a bitch!" she hissed, punching him hard in the chest. He laughed and blocked her next hit, snatching her wrist and pulling her into a bruising kiss.

"Now, now, Claire-Bear," he whispered against her lips, "What did I say about causing a scene?" He bit her bottom lip savagely, digging his fingers into her ribs. She gasped, arching into his touch almost involuntarily. He chuckled and captured her left hand in his, shoving something roughly onto her finger. She looked down. There, nestled on her fourth finger was a platinum engagement band with what had to be, at least, a 2 karat princess cut diamond in the center. Her jaw dropped. Sylar grinned and kissed her temple, trailing his lips over her eyebrow and cheek. His stubble was rough against her face. Green eyes stared into brown as she met his gaze in disbelief. He pressed his forehead to hers.

"Don't say anything now, Claire. Just keep it, and know that one day, I'm going to make you my wife," he murmured. Claire was still too stupified to even remember to breathe, let alone give him a response.

"Here are your drinks, sir!" the stewardess chirped. Sylar kissed Claire's nose and turned to take the glasses. Claire could only stare down at her hand like an idiot. Sylar slipped her champagne flute into her hand, holding up his own merlot glass in a toast. He touched the lip of his glass to hers. She was suddenly reminded of that day in the hotel, when he lured her into the room disguised as Nathan. She should never have gotten in that car at school. What the _fuck_ was she doing flying first class with this freak to _Italy_?

Sylar and kissed her lips once more. "To us," he whispered. Claire swallowed around the lump in her throat.

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	4. New York, New York

**Disclaimer: I do not own NBC's "Heroes" or the characters in this story.**

Warning: Rated M for sexual situations and Claire and Sylar's potty mouths :)

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_Chapter 3 - New York, New York_

_"Attention ladies and gentleman, this is your captain speaking. We will be landing at JFK in roughly fifteen minutes. All passengers should remain seated and please buckle your safety belts at this time. Remember to gather your belongings from the overhead storage AFTER the plane has come to a complete stop and your safety belts have released."_

Claire drained what was left of her cosmo and slid her feet into her tweed pumps. Sylar was leaning back with his eyes closed, listening to his iPod. Smirking, she yanked one of the earbuds out of his ears. He opened one eye.

"We're landing in fifteen minutes," she said, slipping her dog-eared copy of _Wuthering Heights_ into her carry-on.

Sylar captured her hand in his, examining his ring on her slender finger. Her hands were abnormally small, browned by the suns, with pretty, blunt, square cut nails. They were painted a sheer lavender with white french tips. He kissed her knuckles lightly.

She jerked her hand back, staring at him fearfully. "Please don't touch me," she whispered. He smirked and pulled her forward, smashing their lips together roughly.

"I will touch you whenever I damn well please, Claire. Do you understand that?" Tears of rage threatened to spill over Claire's flushed cheeks. "You. Don't. Own. Me," she hissed, "This ring? Means nothing. You can't force me to love you, Sylar."

He grinned dementedly, kissing her again. "I'll make you love me, Claire-Bear," he rumbled. She glared up at him angrily. "Well, so far, you're doing a pretty shitty job of it! Kidnapping me, dragging me halfway across the world to hold me hostage until I agree to marry you?" She shoved him away roughly.

"As _bizarre_ as it sounds, I know that you have the capacity to show genuine kindness! I saw it when you were in level 5, when Angela was playing her Mommy-Dearest mindfuck games! I saw it when you were with Elle, before she betrayed you!"

"DON'T say her name," he seethed, his eyes turning almost black.

"You have to stop this, Sylar! This... power quest you're on! I'm just one more conquest you want to add to your collection! But you can't just take THIS like someone's abilities!" she whispered, clenching her hand over her heart.

She wrapped her arms around herself miserably. "I'm going to end up like Elle, aren't I?" she whispered brokenly, "Destroyed, simply because you didn't get your way..."

Sylar leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers, kissing her nose gently. "Never," he murmured. She looked up hopefully as a feral grin passed over his face.

"You can't die, Claire-Bear," he said quietly in her ear with a chuckle.

"I hate you," she whispered, just before he kissed her.

_"Passengers, we are preparing to land, please buckle your safety belts at this time. Thank you for flying Delta Airlines, and welcome to New York. Have a wonderful day."_

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	5. Check In Time is 3 PM

**Disclaimer: I do not own NBC's "Heroes" or the characters in this story.**

Warning: Rated M for sexual situations and Claire and Sylar's potty mouths :)

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_Chapter 3 - Check In Time is 3 PM_

Claire stared up at the gray sky and grayer buildings, and walked along the gray sidewalk. With Gabriel Gray. Her mouth quirked up in a half smile. Sylar watched her carefully.

"What's so amusing?"

Claire shook her head and buried her hands in her pockets.

"Nothing. I just remembered how much I hate New York."

Sylar rolled his eyes. "Westerners. And why, pray tell, do you 'hate' New York?"

"Technically, I'm a southerner. And New York reeks of gloom and dispair. And pollution," she replied.

Sylar chuckled and suddenly took her arm, steering her to a crosswalk.

"Where are we going?" she asked,not even bothering to escape his grip.

"Across the street. We're staying at the Radisson."

"We're staying? When is our flight?"

"Not until noon tomorrow. And I don't know about you, but I need a shower and shave."

Claire huffed and trotted across the street with Sylar and the rest of the crowd. She looked up at the white washed stone building.

"A hotel on Broadway? How much did that cost?"

"Not as much as you would think. Are you hungry? We can go out for dinner or just order room service, whichever you prefer."

Claire was quite shocked at how... generous he was being. He had to be planning something.

"Room service is fine," she murmured. He leered at her, obviously pleased with her answer. They walked into the lobby and up to the check-in counter. Sylar pulled out a credit card and his fake ID. "I have reservations for two, for Stephen and Charlotte Walden." The receptionist smiled and handed him two key cards.

"We've been expecting you, Mr. Walden. Your bags have already been delivered and are up in your rooms. Thank you, and enjoy your stay!" Sylar smiled and took Claire's hand leading her to the elevators.

"How are you paying for all of this anyway?" Claire asked, gazing at the massive crystal chandeliers and lush decor.

Sylar flashed a toothy grin and jabbed the 'going up' button. "Actually I'm not. It's all courtesy of one Angela Petrelli," he whispered. Claire reeled back in shock. "You're robbing my grandmother?!" she shrieked.

Sylar slapped a hand over her mouth and dragged her into the elevator, which was, unfortunately for Claire, empty. As soon as the doors closed he slammed her up against the wall.

"What did I say about drawing attention, _Claire Bear_," he hissed. Claire growled and kicked at his legs.

"You _son-of-a-bitch_! You're not getting away with this! The police can trace credit card transactions! You'll lead them right to me!" She spat. Sylar chuckled darkly and kissed her ear.

"Well, I guess it's a good thing that Mama Petrelli's the one orchestrating this whole thing, huh?"

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	6. The Devil's Advocate

**Disclaimer: I do not own NBC's "Heroes" or the characters in this story.**

Warning: Rated M for sexual situations and Claire and Sylar's potty mouths :)

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_Chapter 4 - The Devil's Advocate_

For once in her life, Claire was speechless. Sylar felt her go weak in his arms.

"Y-you're lying..." she whispered. The elevator came to a smooth stop, the doors opening on the sixth floor. A young couple and an elderly man bustled into the elevator. "You guys are the tenth floor?" the younger man asked.

"Yes," Sylar said cooly, bringing Claire around in front of him. She was still pressed against his front, clenching her fingers in his chambray button-down shirt. The young woman peered at Claire's pale face.

"Is she okay? She looks like she's about to black out," she said.

Sylar looked down at Claire, tugging her head back by her long blonde hair. Her upturned face _was_ rather white, her soft green eyes wide with confusion. He smiled gently.

"She's fine. She gets motion sickness very easily, poor baby," he murmured, kissing her forehead. Claire flinched. The woman smiled sympathetically.

When they reached the tenth floor, Sylar nudged Claire into the hallway, guiding her down the corridor. He stopped in front of a pair of white french doors.

"Here we are, suite 221." He passed the key card through the reader and held the door open for her. As soon as they were both in the room and the door was shut, Claire flew at him, swinging her fists wildly.

"YOU'RE LYING!" she screamed, "YOU'RE LYING TO ME! ANGELA WOULDN'T DO THIS! TELL ME THE TRUTH!"

Sylar snatched her wrists, whirling her around and shoving her onto the bed, falling on top of her. She struggled to move her face away from the mattress. "I can't breathe! _Sylar!_" she shrieked. He finally let her turn her head to the side before crushing his mouth to her ear.

"I'm not going to tell you again, Claire. Be. _Quiet_," he growled. She froze, sobbing and hiccupping.

"Tell me it's not true," she moaned. Sylar said nothing, instead toeing off his shoes, then hers. She could barely breathe under his weight.

"She needed you out of the country for a while. Just until Danko was captured," he said. Claire clenched her fists in the down comforter.

"Danko escaped?" she gasped. Sylar loosened her fingers with his own, twining them together and playing with her ring.

"Yes. He wants Noah, Nathan, and myself dead. Angela feared that he would come after you for bait, or worse, the ultimate revenge."

"So why did Angela enlist _you_? And why the hell did you agree to help her?" Claire asked.

"I _assume_ she's trying to extend an olive branch. She wants my power, and she knows that she needs it to eliminate Danko. You, my love, are my consolation prize. It's a win-win scenario. I get to kill Danko, and I get to spend an indefinate amount of time touring beautiful Italy with beautiful Claire Bennet."

Sylar groaned at the mere thought and rolled her over, devouring her mouth in a kiss. "No, stop it!" Claire cried, arching against his warm body in a pathetic attempt to push him away. Sylar chuckled, nibbling at her lower lip. "Not to mention it will piss Noah off royally," he muttered.

Claire shoved weakly at his chest. "He doesn't know where I am?!" she cried.

Sylar laughed. "He doesn't have a clue! Do you really think he would have gone along with this scheme? Your grandmother's taking care of that, however." Claire frowned.

"Why would she trust you? You've tried to kill her and everyone she loves," she snapped. Sylar gave a crooked grin and pressed his forehead to hers.

"Because it's you... I will never hurt you. She knows that. You are my life now, Claire. Only you," he murmured. She turned her head away, blinking back angry tears.

"Angela on the other hand... she is playing a very dangerous game. Fuck with the bull and you get the horns. I'm going to kill her when this is all over," he hissed.

"I hate you," she croaked.

"I know," he whispered, "_Sleep_, Claire. You're tired." With that, he pulled her up to the pillows and curled around her.

Claire had never in her life felt so... betrayed. Her own grandmother had handed her off to this monster. Somehow, she found herself unable to care about Sylar's threat to kill her. Claire finally gave in to exhaustion, falling into an uneasy sleep with Sylar's warm breath brushing her cheek.

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	7. la Bella Italia

**Disclaimer: I do not own NBC's "Heroes" or the characters in this story.**

Warning: Rated M for sexual situations and Claire and Sylar's potty mouths :)

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_Chapter 5 - la Bella Italia_

"Good morning, Claire. Time to wake up."

Claire forced her eyes open, scrubbing a palm over her face.

"Wha' time izit?" she slurred, combing her hair out of her eyes. Claire sat up, squinting at the alarm clock. She jumped when Sylar placed a plate of bacon and eggs on her lap.

"It's noon. I let you sleep in, but you need to hurry and eat so you can shower before we leave for the airport."

Claire grumbled about early risers under her breath and stabbed a piece of bacon with her fork.

Sylar was sitting cross legged in the armchair across from the bed. He flicked through the Times idly. "Angela called this morning. She was asking about you."

Claire snorted and chewed her eggs slowly. "And here I was, under the impression that she didn't give a shit."

Sylar smirked wryly. "I told her that you were perfectly content."

Claire glared up at him. "Yeah, for a _hostage_," she snapped, tossing her empty plate back on the silver tray. Sylar stood and gathered up the tray, leaning over and giving her a smacking kiss on her forehead. "Run along and take a shower, princess," he murmured.

Claire rolled her eyes and snatched up her duffle bag, stomping to the bathroom.

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By the time they made it to the airport, their plane was already boarding. Claire found herself once again in first class with the customary glass of champagne.

"Is this all rich people do? Drink themselves stupid and globe trot?" she asked, downing her drink in one gulp. Sylar smirked and sipped at his wine.

"Get used to it. We're going to a country known for many things; one being lots and _lots_ of alcohol."

"And we can't even get drunk."

Sylar clinked his glass against hers. "Cheers."

Claire gave him a rare half smile.

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_Ten Long Hours Later..._

Having the good fortune of getting the window seat, Claire stared out over the rolling hills and vinyards of Tuscany. She felt like a little girl with her nose pressed against the glass, mouth agape in awe. The Italian countryside looked exactly like it did in the paintings.

She gasped sharply as she felt Sylar nestle his face in the crook of her neck, breathing deeply.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he asked her quietly. She nodded, watching his hands wrap around hers against the window. Her ring sparkled almost mockingly against her finger. She frowned at it's implications. She knew that if she took it off, he would just make her put it back on. But everytime she looked at it, a little part of her heart darkened. It was not a symbol of his "love" for her, but of her betrayal to her family, her friends, herself...

And yet, for reasons unexplainable, deep in the recesses of her mind, his ring brought her this niggling sense of pleasure. She felt... sexy. Dangerous. Wanted. It was a powerful thing, to be the center of one's obsession. It gave her some control over him. But at the same time, he was the one controlling her. Owning her. Claire shivered in his embrace, terrified of her own dark thoughts.

He held her tightly, kissing her hair and cheek. "My Claire..." he mumbled.

"... Maybe," she whispered.

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	8. Coffee and a Cab Ride

**Disclaimer: I do not own NBC's "Heroes" or the characters in this story.**

Warning: Rated M for sexual situations and Claire and Sylar's potty mouths :)

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Chapter 6 - Coffee and a Cab Ride

Claire thumbed through an English to Italian translation book while Sylar paid for their coffee.

"Graci," he murmured to the barista, waving a cup in front of Claire's nose. She took her macchiato without looking away from the book.

"We should buy this, it would come in handy," she said showing him the paperback. Sylar scoffed and took the book from her, tossing it haphazardly back on the shelf.

"We don't need it."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Do you speak Italian?" she sassed. Sylar smirked at her.

"Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I do Claire-Bear. Now grab your bag, precious, so we can get the hell out of this airport." Claire huffed and snatched her duffel bag from him, heaving it over her shoulder.

"When the hell did you learn to speak Italian?" she asked. Sylar gave her a blank look and tapped his head.

"Aptitude, remember? I'm all knowing."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Bastard," she growled, moving ahead of him. Sylar laughed and reached out to grab her hand.

They made their way through the exit and onto the side walk. Florence looked like something out of a movie. Beautiful architecture, elaborate fountains, little shops and stands, Italian cars, and lots and lots of vespas and bicycles. Claire grinned in spite of herself.

Sylar stepped onto the curb and hailed a cab. One pulled over and the driver got out to help Sylar load the bags in the trunk. Claire slipped into the back seat. Well, the cab smelled like the ones in New York and California; that much hadn't changed. Cigarettes and liquor. Sylar scooched in beside her and rattled off something in Italian to the driver.

"Ah, Si, si!" he said, and pulled into traffic. Sylar leaned back in his seat and slipped an arm around Claire's shoulder. "You two are, ah, how you say, newly-married?" the driver asked. Sylar gave her an evil grin.

"Yes, we're newly-weds. We're on our honeymoon, in fact." Claire glared at him as the driver burst into praise for their blessed union and hopes for a speedy conception. This must be how Mia Farrow felt at the end of Rosemary's Baby, Claire thought moodily, turning her attention to the window.

A horse pulling a Cinderella-style carriage trotted by, a happy couple seated inside. Claire fantasized about what it would be like to be here with someone she actually loved and not some psychotic, Hannibal-esque freak.

As if on que, Sylar nuzzled behind her ear and kissed the soft skin there. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he murmured. For once, she couldn't disagree with him.

"What hotel are we staying at?"

"It's a bed and breakfast actually. Bella Alba is the name of it."

Claire frowned. "What does that mean?"

"Beautiful sunrise. No idea why they call it that."

Claire smirked. "I thought you were all-knowing," she teased. Sylar leaned in and nipped her lower lip sharply.

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